I will never see Amy again, he though as he trudged through the cemetery.
1938, good a time as any considering this is what always happens.
How many times had he died?
He's lost count. Not many people could say that apart from the Doctor.
The Doctor.
He prayed to any God that would listen.
He prayed that the Doctor had kept Amy safe and away from that angel.
If he had any last regrets they had to do with Amy.
Why hadn't he taken the time to memorize the smell of her skin when he had come home from working a double? Why hadn't he paid attention in his college art class so that he would now be able to draw her from memory instead of having to rely on the old fading picture that he had kept in his wallet? Why had he not told her every waking moment that he loved her? Why had he looked at that stupid gravestone?
Speaking of which, he found it. The first grave on the hill. Blank, sitting alone just waiting to be filled. The smooth polished stone just waiting to be carved into.
I love you Amy. Always, Rory thought as he sat down is back leaned against the gravestone.
Rory cocked the barrel of the gun and raise it under his chin.
"I'll wait for you", he said in a hushed revenant whisper.
Then the night's quiet was broken by a single loud bang.